Chapter 62 - Quest for Will

    Alexander surveyed the hushed and expectant crowd. There must have been forty or so peasants eagerly peering at the unique spectacle playing out before them. He took a moment to reflect. He had lost count of the number of hot men he had subjected to some form of public humiliation since his elevation to his current position. He ran through an inventory of some of the sexiest: Peter of Mickelsfield - the dumb hunk he had tricked into canary yellow tights, given a public enema and stuffed with a string of leather balls; Darius the arrogant Arabian soldier -  whom he had shaved, tarred and feathered and forced chicken-like to ‘lay’ an egg;  Arthur and Stanley - the gullible red-headed brothers whose arses he had glued together with a bulb of ginger and whom he had left dangling from a beam in their own cottage; Wench - the quivering bar-boy, dressed as a maid and a string of meaty sausages tied to his prick; Raymond - the scheming slut, who had suffered so many public indignities, not least being the pisspot of the desiccated Sir Wilfrid; the divine Prince Felix himself, who had been gunged, stuffed and reduced to a squealing infant in front of his own aunt; and last but not least, Will: the sexiest slutboy of them all, whose perfect arse haunted his dreams, and who had submitted to every degrading act Alexander had visited upon him, and yet still saved his cruel master from certain death.
    However, much as he might demean them verbally, dress them in clinging hosiery that robbed them of their pride, and in some cases, their very masculinity, wash out their holes and stuff them with food, tie them up, gag them, gunge them, spank them, plug their arses with whatever humiliating objects he could find, the actual sexual act had always remained for him something to be done in private: an intimate moment for him and the objects of his lust. But with this peasant farmer bent over so that his cream-coloured ass stuck out as lewdly as the most provocative concubine, Alexander found that for once he wanted nothing so much as to simply plough his long cock into that inviting hole as surely as the farmer ploughed his fields. And somehow he knew instinctively that for this particular victim, a simple fuck would be the most humiliating thing of all.
    Jack could not look over his shoulder with his neck clamped in the stocks,  so he flinched with the unexpected sensation as Alexander started to roll down the waist-band of his newly acquired tights. Alexander did so slowly, tantalisingly, gradually revealing the pale, naked curve of Jack’s buttocks. He let the waist-band rest just beneath the arse cheeks, framing the two plump slabs of meat most delightfully.
    “You should be grateful that I will at least lubricate your opening,” he said as he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt, and coated a couple of fingers with grease. “Are you ready?”
    Despite the cold, Jack’s crack was sweaty as Alexander began to oil it up. Jack’s breathing grew faster as his most intimate opening was fondled and probed by the cruel stranger.
    “In we go…”
    And Alexander pushed two fingers into the man’s hole.
    “Ooh, that’s very tight! Don’t tell me your scrawny wife has never pleasured you up there? Well maybe you will develop a taste for it - though I doubt she will have my expertise!”
    “No, please, please…” mumbled Jack as Alexander withdrew his fingers.
    “Beg all you like, peasant. I like to hear you beg.”
    Alexander reached into his own hose and freed his already hard cock, smearing some of the same grease around his shaft and mushroom-shaped head.
    “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I’m a busy man - and you do not interest me sufficiently for me to linger.” This much was true: in other circumstances he would have invented a far kinkier humiliation. A mere fuck whilst his victim was locked in the stocks was positively vanilla as far as Alexander was concerned!
    Gripping Jack’s hips firmly, Alexander positioned his engorged cock against the puckered opening of the farmer’s anus.
    “Breathe deeply, now,” he murmured. “This is going to hurt.”
    Jack began to pant as he felt himself, slowly but surely, being raped by Alexander’s meaty member. The new sensation of penetration overwhelmed him, and is often the case, his own cock began to twitch of its own volition.
    “Being a fucktoy obviously runs in the family,” grinned Alexander as he squeezed the growing bulge in Jack’s tights. “In we go now, all the way.”
    And he slid his cock up the farmer’s warm, wet chute.
    Jack’s jaw gaped in horror. He screwed up his eyes to try and block out the experience, but he couldn’t block out the sniggers of his neighbours, and their mocking, pitying looks were imprinted on his mind.
    Alexander began to rock backwards and forwards, enjoying the feeling of control as he fucked his helpless victim. He luxuriated in the fluttering sensation of Jack’s ring as it squeezed down on his rock hard cock. The back and forth movement was already bringing him close to climax.
    “Ooh, do I detect a little leakage, farmer? I do believe you’re staining your fine cream tights with pre-cum. You’re enjoying this more than you expected, no?”
    The taunt pushed Jack over the edge, and he began to emit a gibbering sob: the humiliating emasculation too much. The bewildering betrayal of his body as his cock responded to the fuck in spite of him.
    “Oh I like to see a grown man cry as I rape his ass,” hissed Alexander. ”Gets me really horny. Really turned on. My cock fucking your velvety hole. Mmmm. Feels so good….”
    And with that, Alexander erupted and his hot creamy ism shot deep into Jack’s reluctant bowels.
    Jack’s whole body convulsed as Alexander possessed him, broke him. And slowly, Alexander withdrew his still hard cock from the farmer’s pulsing hole and stowed it away within his black hose. Grease and cum, mingled and leaked from the peasant’s orifice.
    He walked round to look at his victim’s face, and leered at Jack’s tear-stained cheeks.
    “Let that be a lesson to control your wife better, peasant.”
    Alexander turned to speak to the rest of the village.
    “Now, I have ten copper pieces for anyone who can supply information as to the whereabouts of the boy named Will. Who wants to claim the prize?”
    Silence.
    Then after an agonising pause, a lanky lad cleared his throat and spoke up. “I saw him, Sire,” said the teenager. “Lunk took him.”
    “Lunk? Tell me more.”
    Almost as an afterthought, Alexander turned back to where Jack hung dejectedly from the stocks: his cream tights stained with pre-cum at the crotch, his nude, meaty arse still jutting out behind him.
    “You can stay there for a while to ponder your shortcomings as both a husband and a brother. I’m a generous man though, farmer. I’ll let you keep the tights.”

    The lanky teenager’s name was Nicky. Both he and his parents looked frankly terrified at the prospect of him accompanying Alexander on his quest to track down Will. Alexander’s disparaging comment that Nicky had a body like a stick insect and a face like a pug dog, and that as a result he had absolutely no interest him in sexually, did little to reassure them.
    Nicky had only a vague idea of the location of Lunk’s lair, so their meandering journey took them several hours. The lad also seemed torn between fear of Lunk and of Alexander.  Eventually, they came across an abandoned barn in a clearing in the forest. Disused farm equipment lay rusting in the late afternoon sun. Suddenly Alexander heard a retching sound from the youth. He span round to see Nicky’s green countenance, and followed where he was pointing.
    It was the carcass of what had once been a giant: the meat stripped from its bones - presumably by wolves. Alexander had his guards perform a search of the barn and its surroundings, but the place was clearly abandoned - and judging by the condition of Lunk’s corpse, had been for some time.
    Alexander spat on the ground. “A dead-end,” he cursed ruefully.

    With the trail cold, Alexander had no choice but to return to the castle, instructing one of his bodyguards to deposit the still queasy-looking Nicky back to the bosom of his relieved family.
    Lord Geoffrey sympathised. “The lad could be anywhere: sold into slavery, most likely he is dead.”
    Alexander nodded.
    “The Christmas festivities will keep you busy. And besides, there are many more page boys who will undoubtedly entertain you.”
    
    His duties certainly occupied him, but disconcertingly, and for the first time in his life, Alexander found that his libido had deserted him. Pert arses bobbed around the castle grounds, and hose-covered bulges which he would once have found enticingly distracting, merited no more than a mere glance. And he wondered whether even that was more from habit than actual desire. He found himself contemplating the disturbing proposition that his feelings for Will extended beyond mere lust.
    
    It was a cloudy morning and he found himself in a mood even more melancholy than usual, when Humphrey, the plump pageboy, reported that a rough looking villain had presented himself at the castle gates and told the guards that he had information that the Chief Steward himself would want to hear.
    Rejecting his initial instinct to have the thief flogged and thrown into the dungeon, something made Alexander relent, and minutes later, the tall, lean, black-skinned rogue stood before him.
    “I’m a busy man,” said Alexander brusquely. “And I’m not accustomed to wasting my time with a scoundrel such as you.”
    “Don’t be so hasty, my Lord,” replied Ebony. “I hear you’re trying to find the blond lad with the arse like a peach.”
    Alexander raised an eyebrow.
    “I can tell you where to find him.”
    “Why on Earth should I believe a thief?”
    “Because I tracked him down after he escaped from Lunk’s lair. And I know where he’s hiding.”
    “And where is that precisely?”
    “Come now. Fair’s fair. You don’t expect me to give you the information for nothing do you?”
    “What’s to stop me throwing you in the dungeon and torturing it out of you? I have some very persuasive tools at my disposal.”
    “My endurance levels are high, my Lord. Who knows how long that might take? And by then the boy might have moved on elsewhere…”
    “Hmmm. But I might enjoy the torture for its own sake.” Alexander rose and placed his ringed palm against the thief’s muscular chest. He ran his hand down Ebony’s torso until it came to rest at his crotch. “Leather trousers have a certain appeal. But I think a close-fitting pair of hose would suit you very nicely, my dangerous friend.”
    Ebony rang his tongue over his white teeth. “You’d not find me as submissive as your little bitch boy. You’d meet your match in me, my Lord.”
    “Well, now, that does sound an appealing challenge. I’m tempted to have you manacled and flung into my dungeon right away. Submissiveness has its attractions in certain circumstances but I do also enjoy using a hot stud who puts up a fight.”
    For the first time, a flicker of doubt appeared in Ebony’s eyes.
    “But I’ll humour you,” grinned Alexander. “Name your price for revealing the whereabouts of the boy.”
    Ebony smirked. “I’d like the bitch for myself. He’s a hot little slut. But failing that, I’d take a hundred gold sovereigns.”
    “Ha!” The sound was harsh and scornful. “No catamite is worth that. I could buy a thousand sluts from Gregory the Slave Trader for that price.”
    “But this boy clearly means more to you. Master Alexander Courcey doesn’t go traipsing through the wet and freezing countryside for just any old whore. And he’s not even a virgin, I know that from personal experience. I flooded his bowels with ale before I forced him to suck my prick. It was a very entertaining evening.”
    “I’m intrigued,” murmured Alexander. “If you know where he is, and you want him for yourself, why not go and claim him?”
    Ebony seemed momentarily thrown. Then he regained his composure. “What can I tell you, my Lord? The sexual urge is fleeting and after it’s satisfied, it disappears. I’d rather have cold, hard coins. They stay with you after your prick’s gone soft.”
    “Ten gold coins. Five now. Five once I have the boy.”
    “I can show you where he is. Why should my price depend on whether you succeed in taking him?”
    “It’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
    Ebony glared at Alexander. “I’ll take it.”   

    “I’m most sorry, Master Courcey, that you have had a wasted journey, but young Will left the monastery some three weeks ago.”
    Brother Ralf spread his hands in a mollifying gesture.
    “He’s lying,” hissed Ebony through gritted teeth. “He’s trying to protect the boy.”
    Alexander turned to the thief with ill-concealed impatience. “Don’t judge all men by your own low standards.” He glanced around the monastery garden with its neat flowerbeds and rows of herbs. “Brother Ralf here could no more tell a lie than he could cut off his own hand. Besides,” and here he grinned ingratiatingly at the monk, “he knows that young Will will be safe in my care. Why, I think of the boy as my own son.”
    Brother Ralf looked at Alexander a little skeptically but said nothing.
    Alexander turned to Ebony. “Be off with you now, before I have you arrested.”
    “What about my other five gold pieces?” demanded the thief.
    “You’d have had those if the boy were actually here. Don’t push your luck.”
    Ebony’s hand strayed to the dagger at his belt.
    “No!” whispered Brother Ralf. “This is holy ground!”
    But Alexander’s bodyguards had pre-empted the move and already had their swords positioned at Ebony’s back.
    “I told you to go, ruffian,” said Alexander. “I’m not accustomed to having to repeat myself.”
    Cursing profusely, the thief knew he had been bested and beat a hasty retreat.
    “I’m truly sorry that I cannot furnish you with news that pleases you better, my Lord,” said Ralf.
    “As am I,” replied Alexander ruefully. He turned to go, but just then, a thought occurred to him. “I don’t suppose the Abbot is in residence? It would be impolite of me to visit without paying my respects…”

    “And to what do we owe this pleasure, Alexander?” beamed the fat little man in his white robe. “Did you just happen to be in the vicinity?”
    “Something like that, Father,” replied Alexander evasively.
    The Abbot smiled his blubbery smile. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since Prince Felix’s birthday celebrations. What an evening that was! His royal highness really did get quite the surprise, didn’t he? How is he? I understand he’s remaining under Lord Geoffrey’s wardship for the time being.”
    “Yes. Sadly the toll of his father’s plight has weighed heavily on the young Prince’s mind. He’s suffered something of a breakdown. The physicians are doubtful he will ever fully recover.”
    “How sad,” murmured the Abbot. “And he showed such … promise. Well, if ever your master decides the Prince needs some spiritual intervention, I should be most glad to … get my hands on him.”
    “I’m sure you would, you filthy old lecher,” thought Alexander, although he said nothing.
    “Those muscular legs in his silken hose… Quite exquisite. He really is such a beauty. I must confess, I’ve always had something of a weakness for blonds. If you catch my meaning, Alexander.” The Abbot gave him a conspiratorial wink.
    A thought occurred to the Steward.
    “Speaking of blonds, holy Father. I happen to be searching for a young page boy. He belongs to the castle household and, rather irritatingly, earlier this year, during my… absence, he seems to have been mislaid. I gather he was offered sanctuary here at the monastery for some weeks before he went on his way. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he might have gone…”
    “I wish I could help, Alexander. Sadly my communion with our Lord and my duties tutoring the novices here leave me little time to bother with runaway page boys - blond or otherwise. Perhaps Brother Ralf could help…?”
    “Sadly he knows no more than you, Father. Ah well, it seems my search has once again reached a dead end.”
    Alexander kissed the Abbot’s chubby hand and made his way to the chamber door. He placed his hand on the handle, but just as he did so, he was startled by a muffled squeak. He turned on his heel.
    “What was that?”
    “I - I heard nothing,” stammered the Abbot.
    “It sounded like it came from the cabinet over in the corner.”
    “Ah. Yes. Mice. The monastery has been plagued with them since we lost  Mistress Tibbles.”
    Alexander raised a questioning eyebrow.
    “Our cat.”
    The Abbot returned Alexander’s gaze, as if daring him to question the veracity of his claim. The two men weighed each other up for what felt like an eternity.
    “My sympathy,” said Alexander, eventually. “The cat from the castle kitchens has recently littered. I’ll send you one of her kittens.”
    “We would be eternally grateful,” simpered the Abbot.
    “Goodbye, Father. I hope to see you at the castle for the Christmas festivities.”
    “I shall look forward to it immensely.”
    The Abbot watched as Alexander closed the door behind him. He waited a moment and then shuffled to his cabinet and unlocked the door.
    “That was close, you little devil,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare try anything like that again or you’ll be in even more trouble. Now it’s time for your daily milking.”
    And the Abbot grabbed Will’s cock in his clumsy grasp and began tugging it in his fat and sweaty palm.
    Will could have cried in frustration. First there was the shock at hearing Alexander’s voice again after all this time, followed by astonishment that the Steward had actually survived and was reinstalled in his former post at the castle. And then there was amazement that he had come looking for him, and then the awful frustration that release had been so near - and yet remained so tantalisingly far away. He recoiled as the Abbot continued to jerk his semi-erect prick: salvation so near and yet so far.

Chapter 61 - In the Stock(ing)s

 

    “You’re sure you will not stay longer, your Majesty?” inquired Lord Geoffrey.
    “I have been absent from my home for long enough, and the North of England in November holds little appeal compared to my palace in Madrid,” came the Queen’s sardonic reply.
    “Such a long journey for so brief a sojourn.”
    “To be frank, the condition of my nephew has caused me some distress.”
    Geoffrey chuckled inwardly. I bet it has, he thought to himself.
    “If he shows any signs of improvement, you will let me know?”
    “Of course, your Majesty. Though his physicians seem doubtful on the matter. May I at least offer your party an escort south? As you know, there has been a traditional enmity between our nations, and I will gladly provide you with the security of showing that you are under my protection.”
    The Queen bit her lip. “That would be - most kind.”

    By the time evening came around, the Spaniards had departed.
    “She’ll be cursing all the way to Dover!” Lord Geoffrey declared. “She must have reckoned she could march out of here with Felix, selling the peasants a sob story that she had liberated him from the cruel and ruthless barons!”
    Alexander chuckled. “And it’s tricky to have a figurehead who dribbles like a baby and craps himself in a nappy…”
    “Quite. As ever, my friend, I find myself in your debt.”
    Alexander accepted the compliment with a gracious nod of his head.
    “And now, I must release you on your own quest. You are no doubt anxious to be on the road and find that tantalising young page boy of yours. But be quick. I need you back to help me organise this year’s Christmas fair. I want it to be the most splendid Castle Montford has ever seen. We are in power now - and we must celebrate accordingly!”
    “Thank you, Sir. I shall leave in the morning.”

    Alexander wasted no time. He had no desire to be on the road for any longer than necessary - particularly at this time of year. Hopefully he could retrieve the little slutbitch with the peachy arse and the legs made in heaven and be back home that very evening.
    He saddled Fallow - the horse he had stolen from the naive blacksmith brothers, - packed a saddlebag with provisions, and, taking two guards with him just to be on the safe side, he was on his way.
    Within the hour he arrived at the pokey little village where he had first set eyes upon Will the peasant boy fifteen months ago. How much had happened in just over a year to both their fortunes, he mused. From some distance away, he spotted the wooden hut and looked around for a sign either of the blond lad or his grovelling mother. A grin spread across his face as he saw from behind, a short young man, bending over in some menial task. The figure wore sturdy leather leggings which concealed, most frustratingly, the contours of his legs and arse. Never mind, mused Alexander, he’d soon be back in some tight-fitting hose when he was back at the castle.
    Fallow trotted closer to the hut and Alexander could restrain himself no longer.
    “Boy!” he called out.
    The man span round in surprise, and instantly Alexander realised he was mistaken. Although of similar proportions and with the same fair colouring, this individual was more muscular, a few inches taller and a good ten years older than Will. Obviously a relation of some kind, mused the Steward. That was good news at least: the family were still here.
    The blond man wore an expression of some confusion. He showed no sign of recognising the stranger, but the fine black doublet and silken hose told him all he needed to know regarding Alexander’s status.
    “It’s many years since I’ve been called ‘boy’, Sire,” smiled the peasant ruefully. “What brings a fine gentleman such as you to such humble surroundings?”
    “Who’s there, Jack?” came a whining voice from within the hut, and a thin woman, her straggly grey hair tied in the nape of her neck, appeared in the doorway. Alexander’s interest, however, was piqued instantly by the fact that the woman’s bodice was of a far finer material than her dull brown skirt, and though a little faded and frayed, it had clearly once been a vivid blue. Alexander recognised it at once as one of the waist-long doublets worn by the pages of Castle Montford.
    “I do not wish to disturb you honest folk,” he informed the couple. “My name is Alexander Courcey and I am the Chief Steward at the castle. I understand that one of my servants - a page boy by the name of Will - was erroneously returned to this village in the summer. From the resemblance between you, peasant, I can only assume that you are a relation of his. Kindly hand over the lad and I shall be on my way.”
    Husband and wife fell momentarily silent. Clearly this was an unexpected development.
    Eventually the woman spoke. “He’s not here,” she said blandly.
    “Hush, Lizzie,” admonished her husband. “Leave this to me.”
    Alexander smiled through clenched teeth “What do you mean, he’s not here?”
    “My youngest brother left the village some months ago, Sir,” explained Jack. “I’m sorry but we have no idea of where he is now.”
    Alexander’s eyes narrowed. He might have known it wouldn’t be all that easy. Why were matters never straightforward when that sexy little minx was involved!
    “You must know something of his whereabouts, surely? He is still young to be making his way in the world all on his own.”
    “I think his time at the castle amongst great men such as yourself meant that he could not settle back into his former, simple life. He was restless here. We all agreed he would be happier if he moved on.”
    Alexander was unconvinced. Will’s brother was clearly unused to lying, and he did it very poorly. In one athletic leap, the Steward swang his black-hosed legs from the saddle. Drawing his dagger from his belt, he bore down on the suddenly cringing farmer. He grabbed the shorter man by the collar and brought the blade to his neck.
    “You’re lying to me. Furthermore, your slut of a wife is wearing the boy’s clothing. Tell me what you know or I will slit your throat as easily as you do your livestock!”
    Jack’s pale face blanched even further, but before he had chance to open his mouth, an ear-piercing shriek emitted from his wife’s cracked lips.
    “Slut?! How dare you? I’ll tell you who the real slut is: that perverted little creature! Whoring his plump little arse to any man who wanted to own him! Tarting his bum around in those blue stockings of his - and then having the nerve to think he was better than us!”
    “Lizzie, be silent!” hissed Jack urgently.
    “I will do no such thing, husband. Jack’s right: he didn’t fit in here any longer. Page boy? Bum boy more like it. It was obvious when you snatched him from his poor mother’s arms, it wasn’t his skills for serving at table that you were interested in! You were paying for the skills of a whore! And you even went back on that. One copper piece a month you promised us. And where’s that been these past months I ask of you? Well good luck to you if you can find the little bitch. You’re welcome to him. All he’s good for now is to be your bum boy. You might be rich and dressed all fancy but the Lord sees you mincing around in those obscene tights of yours and so do I! You’re all sinners and sodomites and we’re not afraid of you!”
    Lizzie came to the end of her diatribe and her final accusation hung in the cold air. Any of the villagers who had not noticed the arrival of the finely attired gentleman had now been alerted by their neighbour’s shrieking, and an awed group of spectators peered from the surrounding hovels.
    Eventually Alexander spoke, and his words were all the more dangerous for the calm tone in which he uttered them. “You express yourself forcefully, wench. It seems to me that your husband might have been better occupied training that wayward tongue of yours. There is a saying: you cannot teach an old dog new tricks. I myself have never subscribed to that opinion, however.” He turned nonchalantly to his bodyguards. “Gag and bind the bitch.”
    They obeyed without question. Soon Lizzie, struggling and kicking her legs in protest, was tied to her own gatepost, her mouth stuffed with a dirty rag.
    Keeping his dagger at Jack’s nervously bobbing Adam’s apple, Alexander whispered in his ear: “As for you, my friend. I think both you and your wife need to be taught a little lesson in respect.”
    “Please, Sir,” said Jack, hoarsely. “She speaks before she thinks. It has ever been her downfall! Have mercy on us both.”
    “Be quiet! Or I shall have you gagged too.”
    Alexander stepped back, although he kept the dagger pointed meaningfully at Jack’s chest. “Now, take off your tunic.”
    Jack was too frightened to do anything but comply.
    “And your shirt.”
    He could hear Lizzie’s muffled protests but he did not dare even glance in her direction as he tugged his cotton shirt over his head. He tossed it to the ground, shivering as the cold November air hit his bare chest.
    Alexander nodded approvingly. Jack’s shoulders were broad and strong from manual labour, the pectorals defined and his biceps bulged nicely. Alexander licked his lips: hopefully the lower half would be just as promising.
    “Kick off your boots, peasant.”
    Reluctantly Jack complied, and as he stood barefoot on the straw-covered ground, his brown eyes looked pleadingly at Alexander. He knows what’s coming next, thought the Steward to himself. And that glance, desperately submissive, reminded him more than ever of the sexy little Will.
    A ripple of anticipation passed round Jack’s assembled neighbours. Would the proud intruder strip him completely?
    Alexander cocked his head to one side. “And finally, take off those grubby trousers of yours. Strip!”
    “Please, Sir…”
    “I am not accustomed to being defied, peasant. I told you to strip. I want to see you naked as the day you were born.”
    Jack let out a rasping sigh in the cold morning air as he fumbled at the cord that tied his baggy trousers. He held on to the waistband for a moment, as if hoping Alexander might retract the command. No such thing happened, and raising his eyes heavenwards, he let his trousers drop to the ground.
    As Alexander had anticipated, the legs muscles were meaty and well-rounded, as is often the case in shorter, stockier men: particularly those who are engaged in manual labour. Jack instinctively covered his crotch with cupped palms, but Alexander swatted them away.
    “Hands by your side,” he instructed curtly.
    The miserable farmer did as he was ordered. His cock was not large, but Alexander was charitable and attributed this to the biting autumn chill, combined with the humiliation of exposure before his friends and neighbours.
    “Turn around. Let me see your peasant arse.”
    Jack shuffled on the spot, and once again Alexander was pleased by the sight. The buttocks were pleasingly plump, with little dimples in each cheek. The muscularity was defined as the farmer squeezed them tight - either through embarrassment or because of the cold.
    “Not bad. Not bad at all, peasant. Now, your shrewish wife has been most disparaging on the subject of the hosiery that is the fashion up at the castle.” Alexander unstrapped his saddle bag. “She seems to find it unseemly for a man to display his assets in body-hugging leggings. What was the word she used? Obscene!” He rummaged inside the satchel. “Let us see whether she feels the same way once we have dressed her husband in some.”
    Alexander returned to stand in front of the shivering farmer and unrolled a pair of cream coloured tights. He let the silken garment dangle for a moment in front of Jack’s miserable face. “They won’t give you much protection against the cold, but I have a feeling you’ll look very attractive in them.”
    Jack reached out his hand hesitantly and took the garment, the impossibly soft fabric caressing his callused palms. His mind whirled. How ordinary the day had seemed at its outset - and now, here he was, shamed in front of his whole village, naked and forced to dress in the clinging hosiery of the degenerate noble class.
    Reluctantly he bent over, the sniggers of his less sympathetic neighbours ringing in his reddening ears. He had never worn such a delicate item before, and he was unsure how best to put it on: ruche the fabric together before stepping in, or just stick his foot inside one of the silken tubes, and pull?
    “You’d better not tear them, you clumsy oaf!” warned Alexander. “And get on with it. I can’t wait around here all day!”
    In truth, Alexander was eager to be on his way and track Will down, but the truculent farmer and his obnoxious wife needed to be taught a lesson, and Will’s elder brother - whilst not as appealing to Alexander’s taste - did possess a certain allure.
    Gingerly, Jack placed his naked foot inside the cream-coloured hosiery and slowly began to tug them all the way up. Alexander watched, fascinated, as Jack’s hairy calves and thighs were encased by the sensuous fabric, until the waistband of the tights snapped into place against the farmer’s flat stomach, his package bulging beautifully inside. Jack’s pale skin blushed an even darker shade as he stood, bare-chested in the footed tights. Meanwhile, the onlookers pointed and giggled to see his figure so daringly exposed. He cowered a little as Alexander walked around him and flinched as the taller man grabbed the waistband.
    “Let’s have them pulled up properly!” said Alexander, hoiking up the fabric as far as it would go, splitting the globes of Jack’s muscular arse in two. He gave the buttocks a gentle pat.
    “Mmm very nice. I see a generously proportioned bum runs in your family…”
    “Please, Sir,” mumbled Jack. “May I get dressed again?”
    “Oh but you are dressed - at least well enough for my purposes. Look at how your wife gazes upon you. She’s practically frantic with desire to see your assets so enhanced!”
    In truth, Lizzie’s eyes bulged apoplectically, and she was rubbing her wrists raw with the attempt to free herself from the post.
    Alexander continued to circle around the stocky farmer. He reached out to squeeze Jack’s balls through the clinging fabric, and Jack instinctively drew away, standing on tiptoe to try and avoid the molestation.
    “Oh, no, young man. Don’t be so coy. If you’re to shy away like a frightened filly, then we must needs find a means of keeping you still.” He glanced around the meagre village square. “And I think the village stocks will prove most apposite for the purpose!”
    The wooden stocks were crude and rarely put to use, but they were certainly sufficient for what Alexander had in mind. With the dagger reapplied to Jack’s tender neck, the miserable farmer stumbled over to where the stocks stood. At a sign from Alexander, the bodyguards lifted the upper plank of wood, and Jack’s head was forced downwards, his neck and wrists positioned in the gaps. Then the top plank was lowered and secured in place, leaving Jack’s torso parallel to the ground, his body bent at a right angle, and his hosed feet sinking into the cold mud.
    “Very nice,” murmured Alexander as he stroked Jack’s naked back, feeling the muscles bunch and tense beneath the pale skin. “You have goosebumps, my lad. I wonder if that is from the cold or merely … anticipation!”
    “Let’s have those legs spread a little wider,” he continued, as his hand slapped between Jack’s meaty thighs, encouraging them further apart. “And how is your cock doing?”
    He reached through, delighting in the delicious sensation of hard, muscular man flesh beneath the thin sheen of hosiery. “Still soft. How disappointing. In my extensive experience, Most men find the sensation of tights against their crotch supremely arousing! Still others discover a masochistic streak in public humiliation such as this - stripped and degraded before everybody they know - and it would have that little pecker of yours springing to attention almost at once. But perhaps you are not one of those men. What a pity. In that case I fear you will find what is to happen to you next even more unpleasant.”
    Alexander gave Jack’s crotch a consolatory squeeze and allowed his forefinger to follow the crevice of his arse, the clinging tights bisecting the two slabs of Jack’s rump, until his palm rested, once again, on the hose’s waistband. Jack’s bare chest was heaving deeply by now, and, despite the cold, sweat had formed on his brow.
    “Please, Sir,” he said. “I am not one of those who desire other men. I beg of you, however else you wish to punish me, do not use me in that way.”
    “Your wife has insulted me, peasant, and in the crudest way possible. I will be revenged. And if I can take some pleasure from your punishment, then so much the better. I will see to it that should your pathetic union with this woman persist, and if ever the two of you fuck again, the image of me possessing your meaty arse will be forever imprinted on both your brains!”

Chapter 60 - The Pear Pops

 

    “Is baby ready for his din-dins?”
    Alexander smiled down at the Prince. What a truly ridiculous sight he was! Crawling on his hands and knees in his jester’s costume, diaper bulging through his blue and yellow tights. He knew that, inside, Felix would be howling with impotent fury. How he must long to hurl himself at his implacable foe, but all he could do was gaze up at Alexander’s log, shapely legs in their deep purple hose, and drool.
    At that moment, another agonising stomach cramp hit the Prince. He had been suffering for an hour or more already: his bulging belly must feel like it was stuffed with a concrete football, his arse crammed with that big, unyielding pear. Although he could not articulate speech, nevertheless Felix could not hold back an undignified howl of pain. And Alexander knew that no matter how hard he squeezed his bowels, there was no way that he could rid himself of the contents of his distended belly.
    “What’s the matter with him?” asked Queen Katharine, her lip curling in distaste.
    “He is hungry, your Majesty,” replied Alexander. “Perhaps you would care to feed him? I have his bottle of milk right here…”
    “Do you take me for a nursemaid, Master Courcey? I did not feed my own children when they were babes. I’m certainly not going to do it for my grown nephew.”
    “I will give our poor young Prince his dinner,” interjected Lord Geoffrey. “I am his godfather after all.”
    Geoffrey settled himself into a high-backed chair, spreading his firm thighs in their red hose, as Alexander scooped Felix into his arms and placed the Prince into Geoffrey’s lap.
    “There, there, little baby boy,” cooed Lord Geoffrey into the Prince’s flushed face. “Let’s get you comfortable.” And he shifted the young man’s muscular form so that his nappy-covered bum rested in Geoffrey’s lap, and his fabulous legs - one blue, one yellow - dangled inches above the floor.
    Alexander solemnly handed his master the over-sized baby’s bottle, fill to the brim with warm, frothy milk. “Now we should see some action,” he whispered in Lord Geoffrey’s ear. Then he took a step backwards into the shadows. Only he knew that the milk was not as innocuous a mixture as first appeared. In fact he had added a considerable dose of a powerful laxative, that when ingested would finally force Felix to expel the gallon of porridge that was tormenting his guts.
    “Here we go, young man, drink it all up now!” smiled Lord Geoffrey as he pushed the bottle between the Prince’s pouting pink lips, and started to pour the milk down the young man’s throat.
    Alexander knew the last thing Felix wanted would be to have his stomach filled any more, but he was powerless to resist: all the Prince could do was kick his tights-covered legs feebly, gurgling weakly as a milky residue dribbled out of the side of his mouth. Queen Katharine watched with barely disguised horror as her mind raced to assimilate this new development.
    Soon the bottle was empty. Lord Geoffrey removed it from his godson’s mouth and, as he did so, the Prince let out a big burp.
    “What a windy little baby you are!” declared Geoffrey, as he began to rub his godson’s bloated belly.
    The Prince grimaced with discomfort.
    “Ah goo-gah-gah!” he said plaintively. But Alexander knew that the tormented young man would not have to wait long for release.
    Almost immediately, there was a rumbling in Felix’s tummy. The Prince began to squirm, but Lord Geoffrey held the struggling body tight on his lap. The battle in the Prince’s guts grew stronger, and he began to kick his legs, so that his pointed jester slippers fell from his feet.
    “Ooh - aah!” he cried, and Alexander knew that the purgative had started its devastating work. He imagined he could almost see the tempest brewing in the young man’s belly, as the laxative began loosening the Prince’s clogged up guts. The pressure grew, and in that moment, an overwhelming spasm from Felix’s tortured bowels caused the blond youth to squeal in pain.
    “Aaaaaargh!” he yelled, and Alexander knew the pressure against the pear blocking Felix’s arsehole would be building now. The battle between that stubborn piece of fruit blocking the exit of all that nasty, lumpy porridge was being fought inside Felix’s very body. It was a delightful irony that the Prince’s tight, barely used arsehole was preventing the relief his body so desperately craved, but it was inevitable that, sooner or later, the hole would have to give way.
    Felix was sweating and panting now, in animal desperation: all inhibitions shed. Little could he care that he was dressed like a big baby, in a jester’s costume, big padded diaper and particoloured tights, wriggling like an infant on his godfather’s lap, whilst the Queen of Spain and the dignitaries of the Spanish court looked on in bewildered distaste. All he wanted was to experience the blessed joy of emptying his stuffed bowels, even if it meant that in the process his puckered anus would have to stretch wide enough to accommodate the expulsion of that juicy pear.
    He stared up into Alexander’s gleeful face, imagining the commentary that was running through the Steward’s perverted mind:
    “Yes, little baby bitch. You know you want to get rid of that horrible porridge, don’t you? That gunk that I forced up your reluctant hole an hour or so ago and that’s been torturing you ever since! Well you know there’s only one way that’s going to happen, don’t you? You’re going to have to push that fat pear out through your boycunt, aren’t you? It’s going to hurt of course - it’ll stretch your ring wide as wide can be, but there’s no other way of getting that oatmeal enema out of your body! Push, bitch! Shit that pear out of your boy pussy and fill your diaper. Once you’ve done that it will be easy. Imagine all that gunky porridge finally flooding from your hole! You know you want to! Imagine how good that will feel! Do it, bitch! Push that pear out!”
    Felix knew it would hurt. The blunt end of the pear nestled against the inside of his sphincter: there would be no gradual expansion: the bulb of the pear was far too wide. Would it tear him, he wondered. It had gone into his body, so surely it must be capable of coming out again?!
    In the end, the whole debate was wrested from his control. The impatient laxative delivered what felt like someone kicking him in the guts. The spasm was too powerful for anyone to resist. The pear - seemingly with a mind of its own - began stretching his boy pussy.
    “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he gasped.
    The pressure was relentless - and then his arse had stretched beyond the widest point of the bulb, and the pear was propelled - like an arrow from a bow - into the soft wadding of his nappy.
    The Prince screamed with the intensity of the sensation, as, as sure as night follows day, the oozing crud followed the pear out of his hole.
    “Ooh - ooh - ooh!” Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes: the utter humiliation of him, a grown man, the Crown Prince of England, helplessly shitting warm porridge into his diaper, even as the intense relief of finally being able to let all that lumpy slime out of his poor body.
    There was a lot to come and the laxative accelerated the process considerably. Felix felt the lumpy gook smearing itself down between his buttocks and accumulating at the bottom of the diaper. It felt warm and wet against his skin as it continued to shoot out of his hole. Soon his balls were coated, as the effluent went on erupting out of his chute. He felt it spreading in both directions within the nappy - warm wetness against his butt cheeks, and against his cock. Shit, he thought to himself. I’m hard! Why the fuck am I hard?!
    The farting noises emitting from Felix’s backside could leave the spectators in no doubt that the Prince was suffering the indignity of filling his diaper in front of a very distinguished audience. Again, Queen Katharine grimaced at the base level to which her nephew had descended.
    “You needed that, my boy, didn’t you?” smiled Lord Geoffrey, as he patted the Prince’s belly, wiping the tears from his godson’s flushed features. Geoffrey kept his palm resting on Felix’s swollen stomach and began to move it in a circular manner. “Any more to come?” he enquired innocently.
    Right on cue, a further torrent of porridge that had gathered higher up in the Prince’s body, gleefully flooded into the diaper. The sticky wetness engulfed Felix’s entire crotch, and the paralysed Prince began to panic that the diaper would not be large enough to contain the congealing ooze.
    “Let me see now,” said Lord Geoffrey, “How full is this nappy?” And he reached around to pat the seat of the bulging diaper through the stretched material of the silken hose.
    “Oh dear me,” he exclaimed. “You have given us a big deposit, your Highness! That’s one full diaper if ever I saw one.”
    The Prince winced inside at the humiliation of having his nappy-clad arse prodded and patted by his silver fox of a godfather. However, as he was still robbed of either the power of speech or any meaningful physical control of his limbs due to Alexander’s dastardly potion, all he could do was fume internally.
    He became aware of a low, murmuring, and soon he realised that his aunt was in whispered conference with one of her Spanish attendants. Felix recognised him as Conde Esteban, a close advisor to the Queen and a man rumoured to be her paramour. They were speaking in Spanish, presuming that neither Geoffrey nor Alexander were fluent in that language.
    “Don’t be a fool,” his aunt was saying. “What use is he to us now?”
    “The people might still flock to your banner,” replied the Conde. “He is the rightful heir - surely they will not submit to these power-hungry nobodies?”
    “Yes! Yes!” screamed the Prince. “The people will rise. Rescue me! Liberate me from these perverted traitors!”
    Unfortunately for him, his outraged cries could only echo uselessly inside his own head.
    “The people are fickle,” muttered the Queen. “They resent my brother-in-law’s foolish foreign skirmishes, and there is no great love in this land for my pampered nephew.”
    “Then why are we here? If the scheme is so hopeless…”
    “I had hoped to tutor my spoiled nephew in diplomacy. With his good looks and with wiser heads whispering in his ear, we could maybe have won round the waverers. Now I’m not so sure.”
    “Ack! Ack!” cried Felix: the only words of protest he could manage as he saw his hopes of liberation slipping away. For a moment his frustrations overpowered the distasteful sensation around his private parts as the warm porridge cooled into a grey sludge.
    “What’s the matter with him?” snapped the Queen, returning to her native tongue.
    “May I?” interpolated Alexander smoothly. “You will recall, your Majesty, the Prince did ever have a sweet tooth. Although he has regressed to infancy, the urge for sugary confections has not deserted him. He always insists on a sweetie after his din-dins!”
    Quick as a flash, Alexander produced a small red sweet from his doublet and pushed it between Felix’s unsuspecting lips. Before he knew it, the Prince had swallowed it. Unbeknownst to the Queen, Alexander’s education had included a smattering of more than rudimentary Spanish, and he had decided to add a final twist of the knife to the Prince’s predicament.
    Within mere seconds of swallowing the pill, a strange sensation began to overwhelm Felix. It started in the pit of his sore and abused stomach and slowly began to blossom outwards across his entire body. It was not unfamiliar to him, and just before it possessed his entire consciousness, he realised with dismay, that it felt very similar to the strange potion that Alexander had offered him to inhale all those months before when he had tricked him into his bedroom.    
    The Steward himself exulted silently: for as it happened, the pill he had fed the Prince contained the distilled essence of that very brew: and would, he felt sure, have an identical effect. He watched, entranced, as the Prince’s pulse slowed and his breathing grew deeper. Slowly, Felix began to writhe in his godfather’s paternal embrace, and helplessly, hopelessly, his crotch, buried deep between the soiled diaper and the particoloured tights, began to rise and fall with unfulfilled desire.
    “Hngh, hngh,” murmured the royal baby, and he scrabbled to try and roll over onto his front. Alexander knew exactly what was occurring: the primal urge to rub his engorged prick against something - anything - had sent all other thoughts out of the Prince’s intoxicated brain.
    Geoffrey raised a surprised eyebrow in his Steward’s direction as Felix eventually manouevred himself so that his belly lay on his uncle’s right thigh, and his thick, nappied groin rested on the trunk-like mass of the left one. There could be little doubt as to what the Prince was trying to achieve, as, hypnotised by the drug, his body began to undulate, rubbing his groin rhythmically against his uncle’s hosed leg.
    The Prince’s mind was overpowered by the single aim of climaxing: his cock rock hard, but it was buried deep in the gunk of the cold porridge, the soggy layers of the diaper, and the silky hosiery of his jester’s suit. All this ensured that there was nowhere near the friction necessary to achieve orgasm. Felix tried harder - like an animal, a mere bitch on heat, his hips rising and falling as he tried desperately to cum. But all was hopeless: his cock squelched into the gunk but it was like trying to fuck water: the hard muscle of his godfather’s hosed thigh remained tantalisingly out of reach.
    “Noooo!” he moaned as the need to cum grew ever more urgent: his big fat, diapered ass bouncing up and down in the air as he tried to gain purchase against Geoffrey’s leg.
    Once again, he imagined Alexander’s mocking monologue racing through his sex-obsessed brain: “Look at you, Prince Pussy Boy! Desperate to cum in your dirty diaper and your ridiculous tights. Forced to lie across your godfather’s lap and hump his legs just to achieve some kind of satisfaction! And you can’t even manage that. Little baby boys with little baby pricks don’t get to cum if they’re all wrapped up in their full nappies, do they? But how a horny little bitch like you must need it, eh? How humiliating for you!”
    Suddenly a brilliant idea penetrated the fog of sexual frustration: surely the hard wooden boards of the apartment’s floor would provide the necessary friction. Barely in control of his own limbs, Felix wriggled himself from Lord Geoffrey’s lap, and began crawling across the floor. With a great sigh, he sank gratefully onto his belly and again began to thrust his desperate crotch against this new surface.
    The monologue in his mind continued: “Yes! There you go, bitch boy! That’s all you’re good for! Humping your pathetic, rock-hard penis against the floor. Dressed like a fucking ridiculous fool, your blue and yellow tights pulled up high containing that big saggy, soggy nappy: all full of congealing porridge, coating your bum and your cock and balls. That big nasty pear that blocked your boy hole for so long, still sitting there too, pressing itself against your arse, wanting to go back inside you. And you want it back up there too! That hole of yours must feel mighty empty now that your big fruity plug has pushed its way out and all that porridge has flooded out of it. Maybe I should shove it back up there - pull your tights down to your ankles, reach into the waistband of your nappy, feel through all that wet mulch, find it, and force it back up your sore and aching boycunt. I bet a bitch like you would love that, eh?
    “Look at you now! Slamming that horned-up dick of yours against the floor like a fucking animal. That’s all you are. My slut bitch - to be filled up when I feel like it with whatever I have to hand - porridge, fruit: it’s all the same to me. And then I’ll feed you pills, get you horny and make you hump the ground just for my amusement. Fuck me, look at those legs of yours in your tights. Fucking ridiculous slut bitch, humiliating yourself just for my pleasure. Come on now, boy. I’ve waited long enough. I want to see you cum! Cum in your tights for me! Cum in your messed up diaper! Do it bitch! Do it! Now!”
    How was the fucker in his head like this, wondered Felix, tears springing from his eyes yet again at the sheer frustration of being unable to cum. Maybe that was another part of the fiendish pill he’d been fed? It made you horny but unable to actually climax.
    “Cum, you little cunt! Do it! Cum in your dirty nappy, tights slut! Do it!”
    His cock-head almost numb from being plunged against the floor, Felix finally began to feel the slow build in the very bottom of his balls that presaged an orgasm. Oh thank fuck, he thought. Finally!
    And yet, just as he was about to fill his diaper with his royal seed, his arm was grabbed and he found himself being rolled over onto his back. He screamed with frustration, as his arse once again squelched into cold porridge.
    “That’s enough of that, young man,” admonished Lord Geoffrey. “Your aunt is present. Have some decency.”
    The Queen’s expression was as icy as her blue eyes. “I think we have seen enough,” she said, as she swept out of the chamber, hastily followed by her grovelling retinue.
    “I must attend to Her Majesty,” said Geoffrey gravely. “I trust, Alexander, that I can rely on you to attend to the Prince.”
    Alexander bowed his head to his master. “Of course, Sir.”
    Soon he was left alone with his royal charge. Felix lay breathless, red-faced and frustrated on the floor.
    The Steward tutted with mock solemnity. “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
    The Prince’s hips continued to buck uncontrollably: the desperate urge to cum still unfulfilled.
    “Oh very well. I’ll take pity on you,” sighed Alexander, theatrically. He slipped his foot out of his leather boot and placed it on the royal bulge. “Hmm, I can feel that cock of yours rock-hard through your nappy, young man. I will rub it with my foot for precisely sixty seconds. If you don’t cum in that time, you will go back to the dungeon frustrated.”
    He began to press his hosed foot against the Prince’s straining cock.
    “I can feel all that porridge in your diaper, swirling around your private parts. And that pear must be resting in the seat of your tights too. Maybe that would give you a further thrill eh? Let’s have it back up inside you!”
    Quick as a flash, Alexander bent over and reached beneath the Prince’s writhing body. It took him no time at all to locate the hard lump of fruit nestling beneath the Prince’s buttocks, and he grabbed the firm bulb.
    “Back up we go!” And with all the force he could muster, he shoved the pear back inside the Prince’s ravaged hole.
    “Aaaaaargh!!!” screamed Felix as the hated object invaded him once again, stretching his hole as wide as it would go.
    “Come along, my royal bitch slave,” purred Alexander, as his frottage of the boy’s crotch became more vigorous. “Cum for me now. Cum in your dirty diaper. In those tights! Do it!”
    “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!” The manipulation of Alexander’s skilled footwork did its kinky work and Felix’s entire body convulsed as the orgasm overcame him. His poor cock pumped wave after wave of royal cream into his already sodden diaper. Oh the relief! That was all he could think of as he gazed into Alexander’s cruel smile.
    “Better?” inquired the Steward. “Now I wonder what your aunt made of that little spectacle, hmmm?”   

Chapter 47 - The Beer Fountain

Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe there was something in the air. But the castle courtyard was not the only place that night to experience godless and drunken debauchery. Young Will had started life in a hovel before being given a brief glimpse of the lives of royalty and the nobility. However, the pageantry and gorgeous finery of Castle Montford were for him now but a distant memory: his new home was the filthy, stinking barn that was Lunk’s lair.

The presence of the various Dunchester merchants at the castle had afforded Lunk and his gang of reprobates a prime opportunity to break in and burglarise their homes. Their cache of furs, jewels and gold coins were slung carelessly in the corner of the barn, and the bandits were making very free with the alcohol they had appropriated from their victims’ wine cellars.

Will sat quietly, tethered as ever to the iron ring fixed to the wall of the barn. He felt more animal than human now. The tattered shreds of his fine blue tights had long ago been ripped from his body. He was completely naked. His blond hair fell into his eyes and his flesh bore the bruises of Lunk’s callous brutality. He tried to remain in the shadows. Experience had taught him that if he could remain silent and forgotten about, there was more likelihood of the gang slipping into a drunken stupor and leaving him in peace. If not, he would be guaranteed a relentless merry-go-round of being abused and fucked until the sun rose and he lay there, sore and aching, with a dozen different men’s semen seeping out of his raw backside. And what was worst of all was that deep down a part of him that he could not hope to comprehend, enjoyed the rough treatment at the hands of the gang of thieves.

However, it seemed that tonight was not destined to be a quiet night.

One of the brutes loomed over Will. “And how is Lunk’s plaything this evening?” he said.

This was Ebony: his skin as black as his name suggested. He was tall – though not as tall as the monstrous Lunk – and lean and muscular in his robber’s leather jerkin and trousers. Many a time Will had been relentlessly speared on Ebony’s swollen cock. He bent down to hiss into Will’s ear: “One of these days, boy, I’m going to steal you from Lunk and you’re going to be all mine. My little bitch slave. And oh boy, I’ll fuck you morning, noon and night. And you’ll be begging me to stop, boy. But it won’t do you no good...”

Ebony reached between Will’s muscular thighs and squeezed the lad’s aching bollocks. “Jesus, how long have you had that metal thing on your cock now, slut? You must be soooo desperate to come...”

Will gulped and nodded. He spent every waking hour thinking of nothing else but his poor, throbbing balls. They were now so sensitive, the slightest touch threatened to send his penis into spasm, but the cruelty of the cock cage always prevented the desired-for erection and denied him that long-awaited release.

Ebony lifted the chastity device – Will’s wretched pecker imprisoned within – into his broad palm and inspected it closely. “I could get this off you pretty easily, you know, bitch,” he remarked casually.

A wild hope leapt in Will’s heart. “Really?! Could you?” he gasped.

“Of course. I can pick any lock there is. This one isn’t so hard.” He smirked. “If you take my meaning.”

“Please,” begged Will, “My balls ache so much. It’s all I can think of! I’ll do anything...”

“Ha! What can you possibly give me that I couldn’t just take from you straight away?”

Will’s heart sank. It was true. He was no better than a tethered animal, naked and friendliness, and without a possession in the world. He had nothing to bargain with. He looked over Ebony’s shoulder to see the robbers gleefully counting their loot.

“Then again,” whispered Ebony. “It might be fun for me to jerk off your little cock for you. A reward for all the nights of pleasure I’ve had from using your hole...”

Will could hardly dare dream that his cock might finally be released from the chastity device which Raymond had fixed to his groin all those months ago.

“Oh please, Ebony,” he murmured. “Please...”

The robber withdrew a small leather wallet from his jerkin, and with no hesitation selected one of the many needle-like devices from within. After only a few seconds of wiggling the pick into the chastity cage’s lock, Will heard the joyous click which told him the lock had been sprung. He was free!

“I told you that I could do it easily, boy...”

Ebony began to slide the metal cylinder off Will’s cock and finally, after all these long, torturous weeks, Will felt cool fresh air against the delicate flesh of his suffering prick. It began to stiffen almost immediately in anticipation of being allowed to release that torrent of cum that had been building in his balls for so, so long.

And then, quick as a flash, Will felt his cock being encased once again inside the instrument of torture, and heard the ominous click of the lock sealing him inside once more.

“Nooooo!!!” he howled in despair.

“Ha!” laughed Ebony. “The look on your face! You get nothing for nothing in this world, bitch! When you have something worth bargaining with – then we’ll see if I feel like setting your cock free for some action...”

Will’s anguished cry had captured the attention of Lunk and the other rogues.

“Lunk’s toy!” bellowed the giant.

“Hey, Lunk,” said Ebony. “I was just thinking – we should share some of this booze with the fucktoy, don’t you think? It’s only fair to let him have his part of the spoils, after all.”

“What you mean?” replied Lunk.

“Untie him and hand him to me, and I’ll show you.”

Will was untethered and shoved over to the black robberman. He, in turn, passed the naked lad to two other members of the rough gang. “Turn the bitch upside down!” he ordered.

Lunk began to laugh in anticipation of the impending fun. “What you going do with Lunk’s pet?”

Ebony reached down for a large bottle of beer as Will found himself spun into the air. The two robbers grabbed an ankle each and Will immediately felt the blood start to rush to his head.

“Get his legs apart!” ordered Ebony as he began to shake the beer bottle vigorously.

“Please – “ murmured Will as his legs were spread so that his body was forced to adopt a ‘Y’ shape.

“Let’s give you a nice long drink of cool beer...” said Ebony. And in a trice, he removed the cork stopper from the neck of the beer bottle, and just as rapidly, upended the glass bottle and shoved it into Will’s unprotected anus.

“Noooooo!” cried Will at the shocking invasion, the blunt bottle neck forced a couple of inches into his dry rectum. The ice cold liquid shot into his body, the bubbling fluid gushing deep inside, aided by gravity, as it gurgled into him. The catcalls of the robbers rang in his ears as Ebony began a running commentary on the level of the beer in the glass bottle.

“That’s nearly half of it gone already! Jesus, the slut’s ass must have been thirsty. Look at how that beer has flooded straight into him! He’s just guzzling it right up! That feel good, bitch? Taking that booze up your asshole?”

Ebony peered more closely at the level of the fluid.

“Ah what a shame! Now, it seems like you’ve slowed down. Are you abusing our generous hospitality?! Come on now, slut, it would be rude of you not to drink it all, don’t you think, fellers?”

Ebony grasped the upturned bottle and, keeping its aperture lodged firmly inside Will’s arse, began to shake it again so that more of its fizzing contents shot into Will’s anal passage. Will tried to struggle as the bitter liquid stang his insides but there was no escape from the powerful grip of the thugs holding him tight.

“Less than a quarter left!” declared Ebony as he wiggled the bottle inside Will’s hole. “Take it all now, boy! Come on!”

The final dregs of the beer flowed into Will’s back passage, and almost immediately, his guts began to grumble at the pressure of having to contain the gassy fluid. Will knew he should by now be used to being used as an object of pure entertainment by the thuggish robbers, but each fresh humiliation still somehow managed to affect him. In spite of all he had endured in the past year, here he was: naked, immobile, dangled upside down by his ankles and at the mercy of a gang of brutes as an empty beer bottle protruded obscenely and humiliatingly from his ass, its icy contents having flooded inside him.

Ebony yanked the bottle free of Will’s hole, and with two thick fingers began to probe at his victim’s puckered opening. Will wanted to protest at the rough handling of his anus but he knew better than to complain, so he merely stifled his pained gasp.

“Ha!” laughed Ebony. “I can spy all the cheap booze swirling around inside you, bitch boy!”

“Give him another bottle!”

“Yeah get him really pissed!”

A second bottle was shaken so its contents fizzed and in it went in the self-same way as the first, turned upside down and rammed unceremoniously into Will’s poor bum. Drunk and aroused, Ebony was more brutal this time and he began to fuck Will vigorously with the bottle’s thick neck, causing the searing beer to shoot inside the boy. Back and forth, back and forth went the green bottle: the fatal combination of liquid and air causing Will’s belly to swell and distend. As the gas built inside him, Will could not help but unleash a thunderous belch.

“What a pig!”

“Yeah – mind your manners, bitch boy!”

The alcohol was starting to make him feel woozy – not helped by the fact that the blood had rushed to his head due to his uncomfortable upside-down position.

“There you go!” declared Ebony at last. “Two whole bottles of beer poured inside the slut’s chute!” And he pulled the second bottle from Will’s poor arse hole and threw it into the corner of the barn.

Will’s guts churned in turmoil and he was overcome by the desperate urge to expel the liquid from his bowels.

As if reading his mind, Ebony taunted him: “Now don’t you go spilling a drop of that fine booze, bitch! We’ve been generous enough to share our ale with you. You’ll be in trouble if you leak even a drop!”

By now, Will had plenty of experience of trying to squeeze his rosebud hole as tight as possible to try and contain within him whatever liquid had been intrusively forced inside. But the bubbly gas of the beer swilling inside him made this even harder than usual. A sudden cramp hit him, and he could only imagine the intense relief and satisfaction he would feel at being given permission to expel the ale from his butt. His breathing came more rapidly and Ebony noticed the agonised expression cross Will’s face.

“Ooooh,” cooed the robber. “Are you cramping, bitch?” And he slapped Will’s bloated belly. “That’s gotta hurt, eh?!”

Will gritted his teeth as the sweat dripped from his brow and landed on the ground.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please let me down so I can go to the toilet...”

“What do you think, fellers?” cried Ebony to his inebriated colleagues. ‘Shall we let the naked little bitch release all that lovely beer sloshing around inside him?!”

Ebony began to fumble with the crotch of his trousers. “Or maybe I should give him something else to drink...”

More catcalls erupted from the thugs as Ebony released his veiny prick from his pants. Already semi-hard, it bobbed threateningly as he approached Will. “Lift him up higher!”

Laughter ringing in Will’s ears, he found himself being hoisted higher in the air, so he was now grabbed round his thighs. This meant that his mouth was now positioned level with Ebony’s black cock. Will spotted Lunk away to one side: his putative master gorging himself on wine and meat stolen from their latest raid. These days, Lunk occasionally expressed proprietorial feelings towards his pet, but it was clear to Will that the novelty of owning a cute boy slave was beginning to fade. Will wondered with trepidation what that might mean for his future.

However, he did not have the luxury of contemplating that prospect for very long. A fresh cramp hit him in the stomach, and his head swam with the pain and the intoxication of the alcohol coursing through his blood. However, he soon had other things on his mind.

“Suck on my dick, faggot,” ordered Ebony, and in one swift, thrusting movement, he plunged his throbbing cock between Will’s plump pink lips.

Will gagged as the thick head of the bandit’s penis disappeared down the back of his throat. He was overwhelmed by sensations: the blood rushing to his head as he dangled upside down, the long-familiar ache in his balls and painful constriction of his cock within its cage, the bloated booze tormenting his poor belly and the simultaneous fight to squeeze his ass muscles tight and keep the bubbling fluid inside him, and now the musky scent of Ebony’s crotch against his nostrils, as drool began to emerge from his plugged mouth.

Just when he thought Ebony intended to suffocate him, the thief withdrew his cock, leaving Will gasping for air.

“Mmmm, you learned well at the castle, sucking off all those rich lords in their fancy tights, bitchboy... You get that tongue to work now and suck my cock like your life depended on it. Who knows? Maybe it will!”

Will tried his hardest to please, slavering over the unwelcome and brutal intruder, swirling his tongue round the thick trunk of Ebony’s dick, and lapping at the sensitive flesh of the robber’s cockhead. But Ebony had no time for Will’s attempts at delicacy. The thief slipped his hand into his pocket, extracted a little glass vial, and uncorked it. Barely pausing from pounding his genitals into Will’s mouth, Ebony inhaled a long draught from the potion.

Will caught a whiff of the aroma and was instantly transported to the first time he had ever inhaled the scent: back in Alexander’s chambers a whole year ago: when he had been dressed in hose, tied up and fucked for the very first time. He remembered how the Chief Steward had forced the potion on him and how it had turned him into a horny, rutting animal. How he wished Ebony would share the potion with him now, and transport him – for however brief a time – from this hellish and painful predicament. But the thief clearly had no intention of being so generous. And Will was now experienced enough to recognise the signs of the potion taking effect.

Ebony’s eyes seemed to flash red, his breathing became faster, and his thrusting cock became even faster, harder, more desperate.

“Take my dong, bitch!” gasped Ebony. “I’m using you, raping your slave mouth with my monster cock. And don’t you love it, slut?! That’s all you’re good for! To be dangled upside down, with a real man’s cock in your mouth. Your own little pecker all caged and useless. And your ass filled to the brim with ice cold beer... Bet that must feel soooo humiliating!”

Ebony paused and withdrew his rampaging manmeat. He aimed a firm slap at Will’s distended belly.

“Ahhhh!” cried Will as a cramp hit him.

“Yeah, bet that really hurts, bitch, doesn’t it! You must want to let all that beer out sooo badly!”

“Please, Sir,” begged Will. “PLEASE!!!”

Ebony looked round the circle at his compadres. Then he sniggered. “Yeah I reckon we could use the entertainment. When I say so – and not a second sooner – you’re gonna squeeze your ass muscles and spray all that beer into the air. We’re gonna have ourselves our own special water feature, mates! Our very own beer fountain!”

Will felt sick. The idea of being forced to void himself of the beer in such an obscene and degrading way was truly horrible. Why then, did his poor encaged cock twitch at the prospect? He was in no doubt that had it not been locked into the chastity device, it would now be stiffening at the prospect of the beer enema being eliminated from his body in such a public and humiliating manner. But for now, the joyful notion of being allowed to expel the gassy ale from his belly overcame all other emotions.

Ebony had grasped his long cock in his right hand and was now wanking it furiously, Will’s drool clinging to it like lubricant.

The pressure in Will’s stomach was building and he fought desperately not to allow the beer inside him to leak before he was given permission to expel. He could only hope that Ebony would cum before too long.

The thief’s teeth gleamed white in an evil grin as he tugged vigorously at his cock. “Not just yet, boy! Not just yet!”

The band of robbers, Lunk included, began a slow hand clap as Ebony showed signs of reaching climax. His broad chest heaved, his breath became faster and shallower, and then just as he approached orgasm he screamed the blessed instructions that Will had been longing for: “Shoot that beer out of your ass, boy! Let’s see you become a human beer fountain!!”

Will did not need to be told twice. The sheer relief of being allowed to evacuate his bowels! He squeezed his ass muscles and, instantaneously, a geyser of beer erupted from his swollen boy hole.

The bandits gawped as the fluid shot several feet into the air, seemed to hang for a split second, motionless in the night sky, and then inevitably spattered to the ground. The beer, warmed from its time inside Will’s body, splashed down onto his naked flesh, hitting his tormented limbs and torso. And at the same time, streams of thick gloopy semen sprayed from Ebony’s cock, hitting Will’s chest and face.

Instinctively, Will screwed up his eyes and mouth, but as the ale continued to erupt intermittently from his arse, he could not avoid being soaked head to toe in the stale beer and Ebony’s hot cum. It dripped from his eyelashes and into his hair.

Finally, the thieves holding on to his legs released their grip and his body was allowed to fall to the ground. Ebony placed a well aimed boot at the boy’s arse as Will lay there, utterly exhausted, coated in beer and cum, belching boozy burps from one end, still spurting occasional shots of beer from the other.

Chapter 46 - Cleaning Up

“Sir Antony, Sir Dominic, would you be so good as to tie our young Princeling to his throne?”

The strapping knights bowed to acknowledge Alexander’s request.

“You were ordered to clean me!” snapped Felix.

“Hush your incessant whining, boy!” ordered Alexander. “You will be dealt with at a time when I see fit.”

“How dare you!”

“You’d better gag him as well. It seems our young Prince takes a long, long time to learn. But he will be broken in the end. All young studs are broken – eventually.”

Antony and Dominic efficiently manhandled the Prince – sticky and shivering in his ruined hosiery – into the throne, and there they bound and gagged him.

The assembled throng of assorted party guests – drunk with exhilaration and wine – turned expectantly to Alexander.

“We have the former Chief Steward of the castle to deal with, after all,” he said, resting his hand lightly on the shoulder of Raymond’s silver doublet. “How the Wheel of Fortune turns...”

His desperate mind made up, young Raymond slipped from his chair and sank to his knees in front of Alexander. “I’ve been a fool, my Lord” he gibbered. “My ambition got the better of me. But please, Master Courcey – you would have done the same in my place, wouldn’t you? I saw the opportunity and I grabbed it. I learned at your feet, Sir. At the feet of the master.”

Alexander gazed down contemptuously at the grovelling youth.

Raymond went on: “I know that my behaviour deserves only the sternest of punishments but I’ll do anything, Master! Just let me keep my life. Please I’m begging you!”

A low muttering reverberated around the Hall. Then a lone voice cried out: “Kill the little shit! Take him to the courtyard and hang him from the gallows that are standing there!”

Raymond scrabbled on his knees to Alexander’s feet. His hosed buttocks bobbed in the air as he sank to plant a kiss on the Steward’s leather boot.

“You hold my life in the palm of your hand, Master. Show mercy, please. And spare a thought for that pretty youth who lost his virginity to you in this very castle only a few years ago...”

“You really are a pathetic creature, Raymond, you know that?”

“Yes, Sir. I know. I’ve been an idiot.”

“This is true.” Alexander withdrew his dagger from its sheath and positioned the deadly blade against Raymond’s neck. “So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slice your traitorous throat this very instant!”

“Compassion, my Lord. Forgiveness. Christian charity. And my solemn promise that I have learned my lesson once and for all!”

Alexander paused: an enigmatic expression on his saturnine features. He raised his dagger in the air. Raymond screwed his eyes tight in anticipation of the killer blow. Then, in one swift motion, the dagger slashed open the front of Raymond’s gorgeous black doublet. “Take it off, bitch,” he instructed. “I want your smooth chest vulnerable to the penetration of my blade.”

Raymond blanched and, shivering in fear, slowly shrugged off the remnants of his fine tunic. He crouched at Alexander’s feet in only his black and white particoloured hose. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. The crowd of guests held its breath as Alexander gently tested the sharp point of his dagger against his palm.

Eventually he seemed to come to a decision. “I’m going to spare your life – for now at least,” he said. “But you do realise you must be punished, boy, don’t you?”

Raymond swallowed nervously. “Yes, Sir. I see that I’ve been a very wicked boy and that I must be punished.”

“Some public humiliation to begin with, don’t you think?”

Naturally, Raymond was expecting this. “Whatever you say, Master Alexander. I’ll obey your every command!”

“Too right you will, you snivelling little bastard!” And Alexander slapped Raymond sharply across his cheek. A small trickle of blood ran from the youth’s pink lips and a tear sprang, involuntarily, to his dark eyes.

Alexander snorted with contempt and then raised his eyes to survey the Great Hall. “My, what a mess the dirty young Prince has made in here!” he exclaimed.

Unable to speak, Prince Felix’s eyes flashed with utter loathing.

Alexander bent down and grabbed a fistful of Raymond’s dark curls. He forced the lad to look down at the floor. “I think you need to clean it up, boy. I want you to crawl on your hands and knees and lick up every lump of cake, every globule of pudding, every dollop of cream and custard that has been spilled on this hallowed, ancient floor. And you’d better do a good job of it, you vile little slut!”

Alexander released Raymond’s hair and gave the boy’s tights-clad arse a firm kick with the sole of his leather boot. The boy’s body jolted in surprise and sprawled to the floor.

Raymond did not need to be told twice. With the catcalls of the audience ringing in his ears, he scurried off to carry out his demeaning task. The thin material of his finely woven hose afforded little protection to his poor knees, and the cold, hard floor soon made them sore. Although that was the least of his worries. On all fours, like a dog, he bent down to lick at the yellow streak of custard smeared across the floor.

“That’s it, Master Steward!” jeered a voice from the crowd. “Eat up your din-dins now!”

Shrieks of laughter rang forth, as Raymond stuck out his tongue and gingerly began to lap at the congealing slime. It tasted sweet and sickly, and there was definitely bits of grit in it, he realised ruefully.

“Swallow it,” ordered Alexander. “You’ve got a lot of clearing up to do and we don’t have all night!”

On he crawled, licking and lapping at the gunge that was splattered on the floor. Fairly soon the combination of chocolate, sugar and cream started to make Raymond feel distinctly queasy, but he knew he had no choice but to continue with his disgusting task.

“No better than a mangy mongrel dog licking up the left overs!” declared an onlooker as Raymond scrabbled desperately over the flagstones.

The youth had now done a whole circuit of the Great Hall. He had made some inroads in clearing up the mess but the floor was still largely covered in gunge and gloop.

“A pitiful job you’ve made of this, young Raymond,” said Alexander, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “Crawl over here to me and let me examine you!”

His knees raw through the soft material of his tights, Raymond did as he was ordered. He gazed up miserably into Alexander’s cruel countenance.

“Look at the state of you!” the Steward cried. “Your once-fine tights now filthy and laddered. And your face smeared with cream and custard.”

He leant over, wiped some of the gunk from Raymond’s cheek and then flicked it into the lad’s eye.

Raymond winced and belched from the amount of sweet food he’d been forced to ingest. Titters rang out from the crowd as Alexander shouted:

“On your back!”

Raymond did not need to be told twice. He was prepared for whatever perverted humiliation Alexander might choose for him, provided it did not end with his body hanging from the gibbet. His naked back made contact with the cold and dirty floor.

“Lift your legs, boy! Spread ‘em!”

Raymond’s hose-clad legs – one black, one white – immediately went in the air, the soles of his feet pointing at the ceiling. Raymond looked up to see the baleful forms of Odin and Ulfgar, long-forgotten, still swinging from the chandeliers. No time to think of them now: he had his own skin to save!

“Nice tights,” remarked Alexander. “You’ve been spending Lord Geoffrey’s wealth most freely at Dunchester market, haven’t you?” His hand rested on the muscular curve of Raymond’s hosed thigh. “Only the most exquisite material to sheath your legs, I see...”

“Whilst the rest of us poor folk starve!” cried a voice from the drunken crowd.

Alexander’s boot prodded Raymond’s tights-clad arse. “Seems a shame to have to tear them, but I need access to your hole, boy.”

Raymond gulped.

“In fact, you can do it yourself. Go on, bitch. Rip me a hole in your tights so that puckered little pussy of yours can get some air to it...”

Obedient and compliant, the curly-haired youth fumbled at the gusset of his luxurious legwear.

“Hurry, slutboy. I don’t have all day, you know...”

Finally Raymond’s shaking fingers found purchase and he managed to rend a small hole in the clinging material.

“It’ll need to be bigger than that, boy,” growled Alexander, nonchalantly rubbing at his hosed cock.

Raymond dutifully expanded the slash in the fabric, so that a promising slice of pale pink flesh could be glimpsed through the black and white silk.

“Now, boy, get those legs spread as wide as they’ll go and beg me to fuck that puckered little cunt of yours...”

Raymond didn’t need to be told twice. Only this morning the prospect of grovelling for mercy and begging to be fucked publicly by his hated nemesis in front of hundreds of peasants would have mortified him. Now he longed for it more than anything else he could have wished for. For he knew that the only way to save his miserable skin would be to turn Alexander on and to get him sufficiently horny so that Raymond was more use to him alive - and fuckable - than dead. Grasping his legs and yanking them as wide as they could possibly go, he babbled his desperate mantra:

“Please, Sir, I know I’m not worthy of it. I know the last thing I deserve is to take your cock up my pathetic boychute but please, I beg of you, please, please, fuck me. I’m desperate, Sir! Desperate for your massive manmeat to plunge deep into my worthless asshole! For you to use me for your pleasure and entertainment. Rape my slit till it’s raw! Ravish my aching arse! Degrade me like the piece of meat I am! I beg of you, Sir. Please! Please!”

Raymond tried to block out the screeching, mocking laughter of the servants, the merchants and the peasants in the Hall; the amused disgust crossing the faces of the handsome knights, Antony and Dominic; the scornful sneer of Prince Felix. And he knew that when the moment came and Alexander knelt between his legs, parting his hosed buttocks and penetrating him with that long, thick cock of his, he could expect no mercy. Alexander would rape him painfully and brutally. It would hurt, he knew that. Alexander would relish every second of his revenge. But at least... at least he would be alive.

He watched fearfully as Alexander approached his asshole, his forefinger extended towards him.

“Now, should I lubricate your cunt, bitch, or shall I force you to take it dry, I wonder?” he murmured.

Raymond knew what he wanted to answer, but instead whispered, “However you want to take me, Sir.”

Alexander smirked at the boy. “This sudden compliance suits you, Raymond. Now, what should I use? My spit? Or what about this? You’ve missed some custard here. Tut tut tut. This is going inside you one way or the other. Your arsehole is as suitable as your mouth, I suppose. There’s not a great deal of difference, after all. Both are now just convenient orifices for my sexual pleasure...”

He scooped some of the yellow gunk from the floor and, just as Raymond had predicted, he squatted down between the younger man’s thights. Tearing the particoloured tights even further along Raymond’s crack, Alexander slowly inserted first one, and then another custard-coated digit into the boy’s puckered hole. Raymond gasped with shock. It had been a long time since his ass had been violated, and certainly not in this humiliating fashion.

Alexander left his two fingers inside the youth, allowing him to grow accustomed to the stretching of his sphincter muscles. Then, smiling evilly, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them across Raymond’s lips.

“Lick, boy,” he ordered, casually.

Raymond’s tongue lolled and lapped at Alexander’s manicured fingers just as he was told to, tasting the custard from his own asshole.

“That will do for now, bitch. You may lower your legs.”

Raymond hesitated. Was that it? Was he truly going to escape any further punishment? Truly, he thought, Alexander’s time spent in the dungeon and fleeing across England had soften the sadistic old bastard.

“What’s that, slut? Disappointed that you’re not going to be speared on my cock? Oh have no fears. There will be time for that later.”

Raymond slowly returned his feet to the floor. Alexander gave the lad’s tights-clad bulge a squeeze and then stood up straight.

“It’s a warm and pleasant evening, ladies and gentlemen. I think we should take the Prince’s birthday party outside...”

The inebriated onlookers began to troop out of the Hall and to make their way into the courtyard, eager to discover what entertainment they would be provided with next: confident that it would involve the two unfortunate young men: Raymond and Felix.

Mistress Olwen, still grasping Jane by the wrist, whispered in her ear: “Not you, missy. We have some cleaning up to do in here. And I think we’ll use more conventional methods.” A tin bucket and a wooden mop were plonked down for Raymond’s younger sister to use.

Meanwhile, Odin and Ulfgar attempted to draw attention to their predicament in the rafters, but their cloth gags successfully muffled their protestations. They were left in their excruciating bondage, forgotten in their pink and yellow tights as they watched the Hall slowly empty.

It was past midnight, and in spite of Alexander’s pronouncement, there was a definite chill in the air in the castle courtyard. Sir Antony and Sir Dominic prodded the bedraggled form of Prince Felix at the head of the procession. Raymond staggered out into the cold: bare-chested and acutely aware of the fact that his naked bum was hanging out the back of his split tights. Alexander hovered menacingly at his shoulder.

The stark and ominous form of the gallows loomed in the moonlight. Raymond felt sick. The last thing he needed was for Alexander to be reminded of the fate that had oh so nearly befallen him this evening. Would he even live to see another morning, Raymond wondered, or would his naked body be swinging from that rope before the cock crowed?

Alexander turned to address Raymond and the Prince: “Now, my lads. Let’s have the two of you standing against the castle wall, side by side. So we can take a good look at the pair of you!”

Alexander flung Raymond towards the stone wall and the blond Prince Felix – seething at the indignity of it all - came to stand next to his partner in crime. Laughter continued to bubble from their intoxicated audience. They were quite a sight, mused Master Courcey: two sexy young men – one blond, one dark – stripped naked to the waist: their pert bums and muscular thighs clad in body-hugging tights, hating the fact that they were being ogled and leered over by the common peasantry, sweet goo congealed and clinging to their beautiful forms.

Felix’s filthy cloth gag slipped loose from his mouth. “You were ordered to clean me!” demanded the Prince.

“Have no fear, your Highness. It’s time for your ablutions...”

Right on cue, a shaggy carthorse appeared in the courtyard, and behind it trundled a large wooden wagon. The pageboys Humphrey and Mortimer guided the horse over the cobbles.

“What new mischief is this, Courcey?” cried the Prince.

“Let me introduce your highness,” replied Alexander, “to the castle fire engine.” He walked over to the wagon and slapped the large wooden barrel. “This is full of gallons of ice cold water. I think we should hose you both down, don’t you think? Get all that nasty gunk off your lithe young bodies!”

Antony and Dominic unfurled the hose from the side of the fire engine and at a signal from Alexander, unleashed a powerful jet of water at the cringing young men.

“Aaaaaahhhhh!” cried Felix in shock as the full blast of freezing water hit his chest.

Raymond gulped in shock and his teeth chattered as he too was soaked through.

The force of the stream was painful as it pummeled their bodies. The two young men did their best to avoid the stinging water. But as they attempted to dodge the flow, they merely turned the activity into a game for the onlookers. Yet more laughter rang in their ears as the icy water chased them up and down the length of the castle wall, dousing every inch of their bodies.

Eventually, Alexander raised his hand and the water was extinguished. Both lads sank to the ground, exhausted by their exertions, their tights sopping wet and their teeth chattering.

“Now wasn’t that refreshing?” mused the Steward, an evil grin playing around his lips.